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The RavenOnce upon a midnight dreary,while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volumeof forgotten lore--While I nodded, nearly napping,suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rappingat my chamber door." 'Tis some visitor," I muttered,"tapping at my chamber door--Only this and nothing more."Ah, distinctly I remember it was in thebleak December;And each separate dying ember wroughtits ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow; --vainly Ihad sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--For the rare and radiant maiden whomthe angels name Lenore--Nameless here for evermore.And the silken, sad, uncertain rustlingof each purple curtainThrilled me--filled me with fantasticterrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of myheart, I stood repeating" 'Tis some visitor entreating entranceat my chamber door--Some late visitor entreating entranceat my chamber door; --This it is and nothing more."Presently my soul grew stronger;hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly yourforgiveness I implore;
 
But the fact is I was napping, and sogently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping,tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you" --here I opened wide the door; --Darkness there and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long Istood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortalever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and thestillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was thewhispered word "Lenore!"This I whispered, and an echo murmuredback the word "Lenore!"Merely this and nothing more.Back into the chamber turning, all mysoul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhatlouder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that issomething at my window latticeLet me see, then, what thereat is, andthis mystery explore--Let my heart be still a moment and thismystery explore; --" 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"Open here I flung the shutter, When,with many a flirt and flutterIn there stepped a stately Raven of theSaintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not aminute stopped or stayed he;But, with mein of lord or lady, perchedabove my chamber door--Perched upon my bust of Pallas justabove my chamber door--
 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.Then this ebony bird beguiling my sadfancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of thecountenance it wore,"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Ravenwandering from the Nightly shore--Tell me what thy lordly name is on theNight's Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl tohear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that noliving human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing birdabove his chamber door--Bird or beast upon the sculptured bustabove his chamber door,With such name as "Nevermore."But the Raven, sitting lonely on theplacid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in thatone word he did outpour.Nothing farther then he uttered--not afeather then he fluttered--Till I scarcely more than muttered"Other friends have flown before--On the morrow he will leave me, as myhopes have flown before."Then the bird said "Nevermore."Startled at the stillness broken byreply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is
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